


The Sorcerer's Stone but with actual representation

by Faerie_childe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Abuse, Deviates From Canon, Everyone Is Gay, Gay Character, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Nonbinary Character, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Trans Character, although later cause right now they're babies, and that definitely would have had an effect on his psyche, cause Harry was abused and you can fight me on that point until the day I die, obviously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:07:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29076828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faerie_childe/pseuds/Faerie_childe
Summary: I have decided to rewrite this entire series because I have disowned the author. I'm disappointed in how things went, and well... this is where I ended up. This will be the first year.Harry is a different person than who they expect him to be. After all, growing up in an abusive household has some effects on a child... as do mental illnesses. While he isn't sure about this Hogwarts thing yet, and thinks that the wizarding world has a collective total of seven braincells, it couldn't be worse than the Dursley's.Also, magical creatures are very much real, so that's a definite bonus.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	1. Introducing Hagrid

**Author's Note:**

> One, anything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling, unfortunately. I fully support death of the author however, and have disowned her in my own mind. :) So I decided to rewrite the books... the way I wanted them to be written. With queer characters, and mentally ill characters and racially/ethnically diverse characters. Actual representation. JK Rowling can f i g h t m e  
> Enjoy! (also the first two chapters will sound very familiar, they are still needed for establishing my characters. Events are very similar until they get out of Gringotts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We start off at a particular hut in the middle of a large body of water.. You know the drill by now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! Also, I fixed some spacing errors... I'm still getting used to this site.  
> I own nothing you recognize!

He was getting more scared as this nonsense wore on. After all, who really likes being dragged from the place that you live, out to a shack in the middle of the sea, just because there happened to be a seemingly endless flock of owls with letters that wouldn’t leave you alone? He couldn’t fathom why someone would want to get in touch with him that badly, however. It wasn’t as if he had friends, especially any who had bloody owls. It was odd, and odder still was his uncle’s and aunt’s reactions. He supposed that owls were out of the ordinary, and they simply could not abide anything that made them out to be anything other than the epitome of a white, cookie-cutter household who were completely and entirely normal, thank you very much. He had almost been too abnormal to keep in the house, and they still threatened to send him to an orphanage on a daily basis. They couldn’t have him being a bad influence on their ‘little Dudders.’ He snorted at the thought, looking up to his pig of a cousin who was snoring happily on the couch, tucked under a heavy blanket, safe from the howling winds that seemed barely deterred by the hut’s flimsy walls. He clutched his own threadbare blanket around him and began to draw a birthday cake on the dust-coated floor beneath him. 

“Happy birthday Harry,” he muttered to himself, blowing the image away with a long sigh.

Not a second later, a loud bang shook the hut. His cousin awoke with a startled snort, sitting straight up from the bed and staring wide eyed towards the door. Dudley’s parents rushed from the small bedroom, his uncle carrying a shotgun that he must have bought at the last place they stopped. Dudley waddled over to hide behind his mother, staring around her with wide eyes. Harry tucked himself into the corner, figuring that if the hut started caving in, it would likely be the safest place.

The door exploded inward, hitting the ground with a loud thump and raising a cloud of dust that obscured the features of the large man standing in the doorway. From what Harry could see, he was absolutely massive. Although, most people seemed quite large to Harry. He was, after all, extremely skinny and rather short, which he attributed to his lack of food and the cupboard he had lived in up until a few days ago. Either way, the man towered above them all, even bigger than his Uncle Vernon, but decidedly better proportioned.

Uncle Vernon lifted his shotgun, pointing it directly at the man in the doorway. The barrel shook wildly as he trembled, his eyes wild and his face screwed up. “I warn you, I’m armed!” he said, his voice shaking as much as his arms, “Go away or I’ll shoot!”

The dust cleared, and Harry was finally able to properly see the man in the doorway. He wasn’t sure if this was a benefit or not, as the man was just as intimidating and odd as he was with dust obscuring his features. He had a messy beard that covered most of his face, and Harry swore that there was something moving about in there. Probably a mouse or some small bird that had decided the man would make a great nesting place. His hair covered the rest of his face, long and tangled. Harry almost expected his Aunt Petunia to mention its terrible appearance, but she only squeaked in fright and held tight to her son.

The man ignored the small group, stepping in and replacing the door with a sheepish laugh.

“Don’ know my own strength,” He said. He walked in and grabbed the rifle from Vernon’s hands, twisting it up and tossing it into the wall behind them, where it fell to the ground with a muffled clinking noise. Vernon made a sound akin to air escaping out of a balloon and retreated as the man walked to the couch and sat down.

“Don’ suppose you could make us a cup o’ tea? It hasn’t exactly been an easy journey,” The man said, and turned to face Harry. His face crinkled in what Harry could only hope was a smile.

“An’ here’s Harry! Haven’t seen you since you was a baby,” the man sniffled. He pulled a small package from one of the many pockets of his massive coat, and handed it to Harry, who took it carefully. Inside was a small cake, moderately squashed, but with mostly legible words that read “Happy Birthday Harry!” in bright green icing.

Harry, having never received a genuine birthday present in his life, couldn’t manage to say anything in response, staring down at the cake as if it held all of the secrets in the universe. When he managed to form words, they came out as, “Who are you?”

The giant laughed, and introduced himself as Hagrid, the groundskeeper of Hogwarts, whatever that was. At this point, Harry was left with more questions than before. He knew better than to ask them, however. His aunt especially had impressed on him the importance of never asking adults questions. He had taken to running off to the library whenever he could, in a useless quest to understand. It was always safe and warm too, and sometimes the librarians would even give him snacks! But even with all of his reading, he had never heard of a place called Hogwarts.

“Would you like to tell me about it?” He said carefully. That generally worked, implying that the information they would give him was really for their benefit. Aunt Petunia seemed to get an odd joy out of informing him of events and things she had gone to when he allowed her to brag.

Hagrid stared at him for a second, and he feared he had done something wrong. Then, he launched into some tale about this Hogwarts place, and Harry listened, entranced. Apparently, Hogwarts was a school for magic, and his parents had gone there. A while ago, he would have questioned this. However, even as his Aunt and Uncle tried to push onto him the importance of normalcy, and denied that anything out of the spectrum of normal existed, he had known otherwise. After all, spontaneously teleporting to the roof of a building in order to avoid his cousin wasn’t a normal occurrence. Well, it was normal for wizards, Hagrid informed him, as he quietly mentioned it.

“Tha’s some strong accidental magic, tha’ is,” Hagrid said, patting him on the back.

At this point, his Uncle exploded. Harry had been expecting it, of course, but still flinched and fought the urge to cover his ears at the loud shout.

“He will not be going to that- that- freak school!” He screeched, sounding quite a bit like his wife at that moment. “Not that we would mind if he got himself blown up like his abnormal parents, but we swore when we took him in that we’d stomp out that wizard business-”

“Blown up? You said they died in a car crash,” Harry said quietly, curling his arms tighter around his knees as Hagrid stood up.

“A car crash?” He bellowed, “James and Lilly die in a car crash?”

Harry didn’t see what happened, but he heard his cousin squeal, a sharp squeak from his aunt, and the stomping of footsteps as the three hurried away into the other room, the door slamming behind them.

Hagrid patted him on the back again, and slowly explained how his parents died to a maniacal, genocidal wizard, and how he, Harry, had somehow vanquished him, leaving him with the scar on his forehead. Harry resolved to get a hat as soon as possible, or something of that nature. He didn’t like the thought of strangers idolizing him because of a singular event that had happened when he was a baby. What could a baby have done against this living nightmare anyways? How did they know his scar wasn't from debris, or literally anything other than a spell that killed every time without leaving a mark? Something wasn’t adding up in this situation. He, of course, didn’t mention his skepticism to Hagrid, deciding his time would be better spent on sleep. He curled up under his blanket and Hagrid’s heavy coat, resolving to think more about the issue in the morning.


	2. To Gringotts we go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wizards are stupid, and don't have proper fear of the fae. Also Harry has a minor anxiety attack because, again, wizards are stupid.   
> (I legally own nothing you recognize. Pls don't sue me. I am small and have no money, so you can imagine the amount of stress that I am under.)

Harry’s thought about wizards not making much sense was confirmed as Hagrid led him into a small, dingy pub that was apparently some famous place in the wizarding world. He wouldn’t have even noticed it if Hagrid hadn’t pointed it out, and thought to himself that such a famous place, the entrance to a major part of the wizarding world, should be… cleaner, if nothing else. As much as he hated to even think it, his aunt’s insistence on cleanliness had rubbed off on him- he couldn’t stand dirt and grime. Of course, that could also be attributed to the punishments he got if the house wasn’t cleaned properly, or the horrible squirmy feeling he got when said grime crusted under his fingernails.

Either way, this place was, in a word, unremarkable. He had half expected the inside to be drastically different from its outside, but this was a disappointment. At least he didn’t feel too out of place; other than the odd clothes some of them were wearing, they seemed like regular people.

They all seemed to know Hagrid, waving and smiling at him, the bartender even calling out a friendly, “The usual, Hagrid?”

“Can’t. I’m on official Hogwarts business, see,” He said, his hand coming down to pat Harry’s shoulder, almost knocking him over. Harry kept his head down, but could practically feel the curious gaze of the barman.

“Could you be-” he started, then paused, “Bless my soul, you’re Harry Potter, what an honor.”

There was a short silence before he found himself swarmed by the patrons of the bar, Hagrid beaming as he watched them bustle up to Harry in an attempt to shake his hand. Harry, on the other hand, struggled not to cover his ears as their voices layered over each other, names and greetings unregistered as he fought to keep himself upright. The voices on their own were enough to make him uncomfortable but the minute someone tried to grab at his hand he pulled away, pushing himself through the throng to Hagrid’s side. He clutched his hands in the bottom of Hagrid’s coat, which was surprisingly soft, and tugged on it urgently.

Hagrid seemed to notice his distress, as he turned to address the group of people, his booming voice cutting through the babble. “Must get on- lots ter buy. Come on, Harry.”

He strode out of the pub, Harry scrambling along after him, half tripping over the threshold as he was led into a small walled courtyard. Harry wondered what was special about this place; there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary. Although in this state he wasn't sure he would notice. His vision was starting to swim, his breathing short and fast. He clung even tighter to Hagrid's coat, obsessively tracing circles with the pads of his fingers.

“Told yeh you was famous,” Hagrid muttered, pulling out his umbrella. Harry kept a tight grip on Hagrid's coat as he stood next to one of the trash cans, muttering to himself about something. He reached out and tapped the wall three times with his umbrella- _three is a magically powerful number,_ Harry thought hazily- and the wall began to disappear from that spot outwards, growing from a tiny pinprick to a large arched doorway that was even taller than Hagrid.

“Welcome,” said Hagrid, “to Diagon Alley.” They stepped through the archway, and as Harry turned his head to look back at where they had come from, he found the solid brick wall back in place, as if it had never moved.

Harry couldn’t stop looking around as they walked further into the alley. Everywhere, things were happening. There were stores with cauldrons, a shop from which he could hear owls screeching and hooting, people all around them dressed in long dress-like things-robes, maybe?- doing their shopping. One lady was muttering to herself about the price of dragon liver of all things, and two boys were chattering about brooms. Harry scrunched up his nose. What was so exciting about brooms? Sure, some took care of the dust and dirt better than others, or were easier to handle, but that was hardly exciting. He easily put them from his mind, however, as they reached a large white building that towered over the other shops.

“Gringotts,” Hagrid said.

Standing at the door was a being dressed in a scarlet and gold uniform. It had long, boney fingers and a pointed beard, and was, overall, quite ugly.

“Tha’s a goblin,” said Hagrid, very quietly. Harry did his best not to stare. Goblins weren’t supposed to be the nicest of folks, according to most of the books he had read. Tricksters mostly, thieves and hoarders. Viciously protective of their territory, especially mines. Harry inclined his head to the guard as he passed and avoided its eyes as he hurried after Hagrid.

They came upon another set of doors, these engraved with a message. After reading it, Harry shuddered. That was definitely ominous, and he stuck by his incredulity that the wizards had decided it would be a good idea to leave all of their money in the possession of goblins. It was admirable, he considered, how little control the goblins were exerting over the wizarding world. They could cut off access to money and heirlooms if they so wished, without as much as a warning. He decided it would be best not to antagonize them, even if he didn’t have much money for them to hold over him. The fae were dangerous after all, and goblins definitely fell into that category.

Inside, there were even more goblins. Some were weighing jewels, others counting money, others scribbling notes in large books, all perched on tall stools behind a large counter. Around the main room were many other doors and archways, goblins and humans walking through them, creating a hectic hive of beings.

Hagrid made a beeline for the counter, Harry trailing behind him, hands worrying the fabric of his shirt.

“Morning,” said Hagrid to a free goblin. “We’ve come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry Potter’s safe.”

“You have his key, sir?”

“Got it here somewhere,” said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin’s book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose. (pg. 73) Harry wrinkled his nose as well. That was incredibly rude, he thought, scattering all of that over his book without a care in the world. Are all wizards this tactless?

He made eye contact with the goblin and mouthed ‘sorry.’ His eyes darted to Hagrid as he let out a shout of elation, missing the goblin’s small, approving nod. The goblin took a small golden key from Hagrid, looking at it closely.

“That seems to be in order.”

“An’ I’ve also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore,” said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. “It’s about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen.”

The goblin read the letter carefully.

“Very well,” he said, handing it back to Hagrid. “I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!” (pg. 73)

Hagrid began cramming the dog biscuits back in his pocket as another goblin appeared, presumably Griphook. Harry desperately wanted to ask Hagrid about vault 713, and whatever was inside it, but held his tongue. Instead, he inclined his head towards the new goblin, muttering a quiet “Hi.” The goblin didn’t say anything, simply motioned for them to follow as he led them out of the room.

They found themselves in a narrow passageway, lit with torches. Harry shuddered. At least some of the things he had read seemed to be true, as this was definitely akin to a mine tunnel. There were railway tracks on the floor, and as Griphook whistled a little cart came hurtling towards them. Harry felt quite a bit of unease as he settled into the cart next to Hagrid, Griphook in front of them. He kept his eyes open as they sped along. The swooping sensation from the ride felt rather nice, he thought, and his hands balled into fists. They made it up to his chin before he forced himself to grip on to his pants. Petunia had always berated him for his ‘inappropriate’ responses to situations, and told him to keep his reactions to himself, like a normal person.

When they finally stopped at a small door, Hagrid lurched out of the cart. Harry watched as he leaned against the wall, taking deep, gulping breaths as his body shook.

Griphook opened the little door, and a puff of green smoke came from the opening. Harry stared blankly at the interior, completely speechless. He had expected a little bit of money, of course, but this was more than he had ever hoped for. There were piles of coins, gold and silver and bronze, and he reached out to grab one, running his fingertip along all of the little grooves. All he could think of at that moment was the thought that he was free. He should have enough money in here to take care of himself. He would never have to go back to the Dursley’s again. They had always told him how much money he cost them (even though he knew that with all the work he did, they likely owed him), surely he could find someone else willing to take care of him, like a long-term babysitter. Maybe he even had family in this world that he could go to! Either way, he wasn't going back there. Not ever.

Hagrid walked up beside him, and Harry had the sudden urge to push him away, to guard his money- _his money!_ -like a dragon would its cache. _Hagrid has been nothing but kind_ , he scolded himself, and let Hagrid pile some of his money into a bag.

“The gold ones are Galleons,” he explained. “Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it’s easy enough. Right, that should be enough fer a couple o’ terms, we’ll keep the rest safe for yeh.”

Harry, personally, thought their system of currency made about as much sense as the American measurement system, but didn’t express that thought. Instead, he committed the numbers to memory, and put a couple more handfuls of coins in his pockets when Hagrid wasn’t looking. As they re-boarded the little cart, Harry considered the fact that he might not be able to get back into his vault. After all, he didn’t have any idea where his key had gone, and that seemed to have been, well, they key to getting to his money. He kept this thought to himself as well, resolving to look more into the problem when Hagrid wasn’t directly next to him. He didn’t fully trust the man. Whether malicious or not, adults often thought themselves far better and more knowledgeable than children. He didn’t want reassurances, he wanted answers.

They seemed to be moving even faster now, going deeper into the mine. Hagrid was groaning beside him, and Harry really hoped he wasn’t about to throw up all over the three of them. They rattled over a giant ravine and Harry peered into the darkness below, unable to see what laid in the depths.

Vault 713 had no keyhole. Instead, Griphook simply stroked the door with a finger, and it disappeared.

“If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that they’d be sucked through the door and trapped in there,” said Griphook.

“How often do you check to see if anyone’s inside?” Harry asked.

“About once every ten years,” said Griphook with a rather nasty grin. (pg. 76)

Harry felt fully justified in his earlier fear of the goblins. He resolved to find himself some iron as well as more accurate books about the fae of the wizarding world.

For such a high-security vault, it seemed rather uninteresting. There wasn't anything inside other than a small package wrapped with brown paper and tied with twine, which Hagrid grabbed and placed in his pocket. Harry longed to know what was inside the package but knew better than to ask questions. Instead, he got back into the cart with Hagrid, who was muttering probable obscenities under his breath, and they sped off.

Hagrid didn’t look much better in the light of day outside of the bank than he had inside, lit by torchlight. He was swaying somewhat as he walked, and Harry was concerned that the giant man might start throwing up in the middle of the street.

“Might as well get yer uniform,” said Hagrid, nodding towards Madame Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. (A rather long name that could be easily shortened, if you asked Harry. Which, of course, no one ever did) “Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts.” (pg. 76)

Harry hastily reassured Hagrid that he truly didn’t mind, head already swimming with possibilities. “Why don’t you just stay there, Hagrid. You’re looking a little ill, and I wouldn’t want you overtaxing yourself. I’m sure I can do my shopping on my own, and meet you back there after,” he said.

“If yer sure, then I suppose… it wouldn’t do to have meself takin’ you back like this,” said Hagrid.

Harry reassured him again that he’d be able to do his shopping on his own, no problem. And that really, Hagrid did look like he could use a nice, long sit-down to recover his strength. Harry waved as Hagrid walked off, head spinning with all of the possibilities now ahead of him.

He had more money in his possession than he had ever seen in his lifetime, far more than Dudley had ever been trusted with. He was in a shopping district, free to take care of himself, and it felt wonderful. He certainly wasn’t going to start out his newfound freedom by going to a robes shop- he didn’t even understand the concept of robes. They seemed impractical to him. With big sweeping sleeves, and hems that practically dragged on the ground. The extra fabric looked like it would restrict movement as well, and Harry knew full well the benefits of being able to run without something impeding your progress. He would save that for later, he decided. He would look for another clothing store, just… one that sold regular clothes. He knew he needed them, he stuck out like a sore thumb in his too-big rags, and his holey sneakers were chafing at his feet. He had never had new clothes, new anything really, and the thought of owning something new, just for him and no one else, was exhilarating.

So, instead of heading into Madame Malkin’s, he turned and headed further into the alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot stay in one tense for the life of me but I am trying my best, okay. Sorry about that general tomfoolery. Anyway, I'm happy cause I get to start chucking canon out the window...


	3. Into Diagon we go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The disaster that is Diagon. Also Harry meets somebody new, and if you think you know who it is you're probably wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get to start throwing canon out the window at this point, hurrah!  
> Also I DON'T OWN ANYTHING!!!!!

Harry passed by the shops, unsure of what he was looking for. While he knew he would need to get his supplies at some point (he still had his letter and list folded up in his pocket), he found himself too excited at the prospect of exploring to follow a list. While the supplies did sound interesting (if cliché), he was lacking the information he needed to effectively go about this. After all, his list seemed… oddly short. He was going into this world completely blind, and he would be lying if he said the thought didn’t terrify him.

The wizarding world had already proven itself to be unbearably idiotic. Idolizing a baby, harassing a small child on his way to get school supplies, even their methods of delivering his letter! Would it have been so difficult to send a representative to speak to him? Were there others like him, unaware of this world and its magic until their letter came?

He needed to know more, and, to his delight, his eyes landed on what appeared to be a bookstore, a sign showing the name Flourish and Blotts.

He stepped into the store warily, twitching a bit as a cheery bell rung the moment he opened the door. The shop was filled up to the ceiling with books of varying sizes, from one barely as tall as his pinkie to one that would be comparable to his torso. They were bound in all manner of materials, some in leather, some in silk, some with paper, and yet others with materials he couldn’t name. Many of the titles on the spines were written in other languages, some even marked with odd runes and symbols. It was dimly lit, not so much that the titles were obscured, but enough that it took him a moment to adjust to the soft light.

He looked skeptically at his list, noting that only eight books were required for his schooling. While he didn’t necessarily understand the titles, he doubted that many would be able to help him with his particular ignorance of this world. Magic he could understand, and he had learned a great deal about mythology and supposedly mythical beings, but he was a complete stranger to the situation he was in. Petunia had often beat into him the need to seem normal, to adapt to your surroundings. He knew what was polite in the non-magical world (he certainly didn’t like the word ‘muggle,’ he had spent his whole life called odd, insulting names and he felt uneasy about using one towards anyone else), but there were likely entirely different customs here.

As much as he had hated reading etiquette books, he knew that one would likely be necessary. Something on government too, it wouldn’t do to go in unaware of the law. And of course, he still needed to find some books on wizarding culture, and some books on the fae. Assuming, of course, that they had any.

Although, looking around the shop, he doubted there was any topic they didn’t have a book for.

 _I need to get my schoolbooks first_ , he thought, _before I go off looking for anything else_. _Then etiquette and government, then I can get some more books that look interesting. I wonder if they might have some books on plants. Ooh, or cooking!_ After all, while he had been forced to do the chores around the Dursley household, he rather enjoyed cooking, and the joy he got from watching his plants grow and prosper far outweighed the hatred towards the many duties heaped upon him. 

His school books first, however. He began walking through the store, biting his lip as he considered where to start. As far as he could tell, the shop had no means of organization. The books didn’t seem to be sorted by category, or author, and after at least ten minutes of looking, he had found only one of the books on his list. He had, however, found many other interesting titles, which were piled precariously in his arms, swaying as he walked.

This veritable tower of books prevented him from seeing in front of him, and he blamed it entirely as he bumped into someone and found himself falling to the ground with a thump. The books scattered comically, surrounding him and further adding to his shame and panic.

“Hey, you okay?”

Harry looks up from his spot to see a relatively tall redhead standing over him, looking at him with concern. He crouches down to help Harry pick up all of his books, then reaches out a hand and pulls him up.

“Think you have enough books there kid?” He asks, grinning. He flips one over to look at the title, his eyebrows raising. “You’ve got some interesting books here bud. They might be a little… complex for a pipsqueak like you though. How old are you?”

“I’m eleven,” Harry said, cheeks burning, “and I’m sure I’ll be fine. So, unless you want to help me find my schoolbooks, I’d appreciate it if you gave me those and left me alone.” He wasn’t sure where the sudden bravado had come from, to be honest. He half expected the stranger to hit him or dump his books on the ground and walk off. Instead he laughed, smiling down at him.

“Alright. Gimme your list and I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

Harry pulled the list from his pocket and handed it over. The redhead scanned the paper, then nodded.

“Alright, come on. These haven’t changed much from my first year, I’m pretty sure I remember where they were last time I was grabbing them. I can probably help you find some others as well, since you seem like such an eager little bookworm. That’s not an insult,” he said hurriedly, as Harry glared up at him, “it’s good to be curious. With some of these topics though, you’re gonna want beginners guides to ease you into it. No use having something in-depth if you don’t even understand the basics.”

Harry trailed along after him as he pulled books off of the shelves. They followed along after him as if pulled by a string, floating just over Harry’s head. By the time the two approached the register they had quite the entourage, and Harry was silently despairing over how he would carry all of them so he could do the rest of his shopping. They neatly piled themselves on a desk next to the register, and he realized that the pile was almost tall as he was.

“Hey Mr. Blott!” The redhead called.

A man rose seemingly out of a pile of books, as if he had formed from them. He was pale and balding, a pair of round, wire rimmed spectacles set midway down his large, round nose. He was short, and wearing a pinstriped suit of all things, the chain of a pocket watch dangling from the breast of his jacket. He smiled warmly at the other male.

“Charlie! It’s rather odd to see you here these days. I thought you were off in Romania.”

“I came back to visit, Ron’s headed off to school this year and I figured I’d at least stop by. And then I remembered how one of my books got torched and figured I’d stop by to get a new copy.” He rubbed the back of his head as the other man stared at him over his spectacles. “It was an accident! Besides, it was for the better, cause I ran into this kid and he was looking really lost and I helped him find his schoolbooks and-”

“Who is this little one?” Mr. Blotts asked, now looking down at Harry.

“My name is Harry, I’m a first year.”

“And a rather studious one at that, it seems! I’m glad to see the youth are still interested in this old store,” He said, waving his wand over the pile. “Forty-three galleons and thirteen sickles please, young man!” He said. Harry dug into his pouch and handed the money over, missing the looks the two men exchanged. 

The shopkeeper smiled, waving his wand again. The books flew into a shoulder bag, which the man handed to Harry. He was surprised to find that it weighed practically nothing, and the man smiled as he stared at it with wide eyes.

“It’s enchanted to be weightless, and much bigger on the inside,” he explained. “Now off with you! I’m sure you have much more shopping to do before the day is done. Charlie, accompany this young man, if you would. I don’t like the thought of him wandering off alone, imagine if he got lost and ended up in Knockturn.” He shooed the both of them out the door. The moment they were outside, it shut behind them with no sound other than the quiet tinkling of a bell.

“Well then,” said Charlie, “I suppose we oughta get on with the rest of your shopping then. He’s not wrong, it’s not the safest for a kid to be wandering around on their own. Plus, I can show you around, and take you to all the best places to get your school supplies. Have you gone to get your robes yet? Those’ll take a little while, for tailoring and all, so it would be a good idea to start with that.”

Harry wondered if the man ever stopped talking. He was like a garden hose, Harry thought. Like he had turned up the pressure because nothing was coming out, and then discovered that there had been a kink in the hose when water got absolutely everywhere faster than it had any right to.

“I’m not so sure about the robes thing,” he said cautiously, noting for the first time that this Charlie fellow was wearing pants and a jumper, unlike most of the others around them. “Is there a regular clothes shop around here as well? I need new ones, see, and I definitely don’t like the thought of wearing robes with nothing else underneath.”

Charlie laughed, and clapped a hand on his shoulder, steering him down a side alley.

“I don’t get robes much either,” he said, “they tend to get in the way more often than not. Especially when you’re working with magical creatures. I mean, I can’t imagine trying to dodge dragon-fire in a robe. Hogwarts requires them, unfortunately- they’re so damn rooted in tradition, but so is most of the wizarding world. You’ll be able to get all of your uniform stuff here, so we won’t have to make two stops, but we should also be able to get you some normal clothes. And some new shoes.”

Harry ducked his head, both embarrassed from Charlie’s assessment of his appearance and elated at the thought of having new clothes. Especially new clothes that weren’t bloody robes.

Charlie stopped at the end of the side alley, and reached forward. The air shimmered around his hand as he closed it around something Harry couldn’t see. He pulled, and Harry felt the subtle whoosh of wind that accompanied a door opening or closing. He still didn’t see anything, but Charlie motioned for him to step in front of him.

He walked through where he estimated the doorway would have been, and froze as the felt an odd tingling run its way across his shoulders and down his back. He blinked, astounded, as the air around him began to solidify. Charlie stepped in after him and closed the door, which he could now see, he realized. For a second, the two stood in pitch black, and Harry fought the urge to run.

Then, the whole area was lit brightly, as lights flashed on from the walls around them, the ceiling, and even beneath their feet. Harry’s hands began to twitch as he squinted, and he shuffled his feet on the floor as he tried to find anywhere to look that wasn’t lit up with brilliant light. Just as he felt his breath begin to hitch, a sure sign of a breakdown, the lights dimmed. Instead of bright beams, they let off a soft glow, and Harry relaxed, his shoulders dropping from where he had pulled them up to his ears.

“Why, isn’t this one a darling?”

Harry’s head shot up as he scanned the store. With the absence of the bright lights, he was able to take in what was around them for the first time. Mannequins stood in a row along the wall, and he noted multiple pedestals and a long runway that were elevated from the floor. There were large bolts of fabric sticking out from one of the other walls, and a full-length mirror in the middle of the room.

A movement drew his eye and he turned his head in an attempt to see who had called out to them. He didn’t see anyone, but a giggle rang out from behind him. He spun, and found a man leaning against Charlie.

His arms were wrapped around the redhead, and his head rested on his shoulder. Quite a feat, although as he stepped towards Harry, he noted that the man was wearing chunky heeled boots. That wasn’t the oddest thing about him either. He wore a long, dark green, embroidered tailcoat and leggings. A thick band of silver wrapped around his neck, and his ears were hung with so much jewelry that they clicked as he tilted his head.

“You are a curious little thing,” he said, “might I have your name?”

Harry decided, in that instant, that there was something wrong about this man. Nothing glaringly obvious stood out, but there was a sense of unease that Harry knew better than to ignore.

“You can call me Harry,” He said quietly.

The man continued to stare at him, without blinking. Harry didn’t meet his eyes, looking instead at the embroidery on his tailcoat. It was slowly moving, not fast enough that it was easily noticeable, but it gradually formed into a different pattern as he waited for the man to respond.

“No last name? Odd. An odd phrasing as well, little witch. One would almost think you didn’t trust me.”

“What do you mean, witch? He’s a boy, isn’t he?” Charlie asked. Harry risked a glance over at him and found that the redhead had scrunched his face up rather comically.

“Different type of witch, Charlie dear. This one is knowledgeable about things your world doesn’t often teach.” The man continued to stare at Harry as he shuffled his feet, hands beginning to twitch again.

“It is good to be wary; I suppose. Now come. You’re here for a reason, and you could definitely do to get out of those rags.” He began to walk further into the store, the other two walking quickly after him.

The two were led into a back room, the door shutting behind them of its own accord. It looked as normal as the backroom of a non-magical clothes maker… albeit one from the Victorian era. There was an old-fashioned dressmaker’s dummy, a variety of ostentatious hats, and yet more fabric. The only modern looking thing in the room was a silver sewing machine.

“Stand there,” the man said, gesturing to the center of the room.

He pulled a measuring tape from the pocket of his tailcoat, eying Harry critically. Harry tried to keep himself from squirming under the attention, suddenly regretting not getting new clothes earlier. Standing there in his oversized rags, Harry felt more out of place than he ever had in his life. He had never been allowed in a place this fancy, and at least at Privet Drive there were always kids running around in grubby, dirt-stained clothes. Here, everything was pristine and upscale, and there was a man dressed in a fancy overcoat who was just staring at him, eyes taking in every disappointing aspect.

Just as Harry was about to lose his nerve and apologize for ever stepping foot in his store, the man smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile, Harry thought, the man’s teeth were just a little too pointed and his eyes glowing a little too bright. But it was a smile, and the man seemed oddly pleased.

“Lovely. You do have quite a bit of potential. Those eyes are dangerous, young witch, and you’ll match them once you’ve grown a bit-and started eating on the regular. Hm, what to do, what would suit you the best…” He tapped his chin with a long finger, rubbing the thumb of his other hand over the tape.

“A little experimentation wouldn’t be amiss,” he muttered, “what are you looking for in your clothing, by the way? I seem to have forgotten to ask.” At Harry’s silence he sighed. “Protection, maneuverability, pretty clothing for special occasions and appearances?”

“The second one,” Harry said.

“Lovely, that I can do without a problem, although I suppose you’ll be needing some of those school robes as well? Rather outdated, I would say, and entirely impractical.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, looking at the man’s shoes and jacket incredulously, before deciding he definitely did not want to piss of the person who would be making his clothes. The clothes he would have to wear every day. For at least the next nine months. 

Yeah, he really didn’t want to go there.

The man’s hands flitted around, drawing the measuring tape around his arms and across his shoulders, before frowning and pinching his shirt between his fingers.

“This won’t do, not for accurate measurements. May I shrink it to remove the extra fabric? It is getting in the way.”

Harry nodded, and flinched as the man waved his hand rather close to his face. His clothes began to slide along his skin, pressing tighter until they stuck to him like glue.

The man nodded approvingly and continued to take his measurements. Harry stood still, stuck between his desire for new clothes and the crawling sensation that came from the pressure of the man’s hands against him. Thankfully the measuring was over within minutes, and he was allowed to step away. The man waved his hand and the clothes shifted again, no longer skintight, but much smaller than they had been originally.

“Come back before you leave, I will have your clothes done when you return, as well as some new shoes. You may pay me then."

The man turned away. Before Harry was able to take a step, or open his mouth to ask a question, his head began to spin. The colors of the shop turned into smeared blobs as everything began to whirl around, and Harry closed his eyes as he swayed. When he opened them again, the two were back in the alley.

Harry turned to Charlie. “Does that happen every time?” He asked.

“Only when he’s excited. Or impatient. Or annoyed. Although I’m pretty sure that was the first, maybe the second, so you have nothing to worry about. I wouldn’t be surprised if he asks you to come back, he does have an odd preference for dressing-” he cut himself off, looking down at Harry. “Never mind, actually. We should get on with the rest of your shopping. Come on, we don’t have all day!”


End file.
